From Switzerland With Love
by simplymoshingintomordor
Summary: A Valentine-centric spin-off of my fic Battle of the Bands - though you don't necessarily have to have read it for the first few chapters. Have you ever wondered what was really going on in Valentine's head all that time? How about just his general thoughts on life? Look no further. Approach with caution...
1. Valentine's Day

**Sup guys! Here is the first chapter of the BotB Valentine spin-off! The last chapter of the actual fic is going to be a really long one and it probably won't be out until next week, so since I had a spare moment I thought I'd upload this to tide you guys over. The style is a little different but I think it fits Valentine better, so I hope you enjoy it all the same! Also this particular chapter is set before the events of BotB.**

**Also if there is anyone out there who hasn't read BotB, this shouldn't spoil things for you too much, but I'd definitely recommend reading some of that before I post any more.**

**Thank you and Happy Valentine's Day my loves ;)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own TMI or any of its characters. Neither do I own a Valentine, so I have adopted you all. No, you do not get a say in this.**

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><p><strong>Valentine's Day<strong>

The fourteenth of February.

This was a date that had both pleased and puzzled Valentine Morgenstern over the years. The reasons as to why it should delight him are obvious, but what confused him was _why._ It wasn't his birthday, nor did it hold any other significance within his life. So why, on this day, did his entire town act like he was the most important person in the world?

It's not like he minded, of course. He had always felt that his arrival had truly enriched the town and its people, so he could understand why they would all feel the need to recognise him. To truly appreciate his presence and all that he'd done for them, simply by just being there.

Yes, Valentine's Day seemed like a fitting tribute. This is perhaps why he'd never questioned its existence.

Of course, his children and wife had tried explaining to him several times that it was an almost worldwide occasion which celebrated love and relationships, but he found this idea so preposterous that he simply dismissed it.

Seriously, why would people think it necessary to dedicate an entire day to romance? Why was romance any more important than other concepts? Take abstinence, for example. Abstinence represented discipline and strength. Why shouldn't that be championed over romance, something that clearly advocated the complete opposite?

Valentine definitely thought there should be a National Abstinence Day.

So this is why, using this logic, he concluded that Valentine's Day must have absolutely nothing to do with romance at all. After all, balance is vital in the world so if there was no such thing as National Abstinence Day – or so his terribly misguided son, Jonathan, claimed – or even National Indifference Day, then Valentine's Day must have some other purpose.

That purpose being the celebration of Valentine Morgenstern himself.

Being a simple man with distaste for the Internet and all other 'corruptive' mediums, he had never found out otherwise and so, eventually, his family gave up and let him indulge his fantasy.

This is how the fourteenth of February managed to become one of Valentine's favourite dates, second only to the first of August: the Swiss National Day.

He woke up bright and early that morning, ready to grace the rest of his town with their inspiration. He pulled on his best suit, fixed his best red tie into place and with the utmost elegance, strode down the staircase with his best smile.

"Good morning, dear," his wife smirked as he grandly pushed aside the living room door. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day to you, too," Valentine winked, handing her a box of Lindor chocolates. He chuckled internally. Obviously, he'd discovered the true reason behind the date – praising himself - long ago, but he continued to humour his wife over the years. Jocelyn Morgenstern was the only person in the world who had the honour of appreciating him in ways that others could not, and since his mood happened to be significantly brighter, romance tended to be a by-product of the celebration. He decided it didn't hurt to shower her with gifts, just so she could know quite how much_ he_ appreciated _her. _It must be hard, he thought, for her to have to live in his magnanimous shadow every day, so he figured he would help to lessen her burden occasionally.

"Lindor." Jocelyn's smile turned wry. "Thank you, darling."

"Anything for you, my love…" Valentine stooped down to press a chaste kiss to her lips, though he let it linger for longer than he'd intended. That was about as much restraint as he could show when it came to his redheaded spitfire. On second thoughts, perhaps National Abstinence Day wouldn't be such a good idea. Not for him, at least.

They weren't as young as they used to be, but they definitely made up for that in-

"Oh _god!_" An anguished cry put a stop to Valentine's thoughts. He turned to glare at his son in the hallway who'd just walked in on them. "I thought you guys wanted me to start eating breakfast in the morning? I assumed that meant you'd also want me to be able to keep it down, because if not, then please keep going."

Valentine shrugged, then moved in towards his wife once more but she held him at arm's length, giggling to herself.

"And here it comes…" Jonathan groaned, holding a hand to his mouth as he ran away from them as quickly as possible. Valentine rolled his eyes. For an upholder of the Morgenstern name, his wayward son was not quite the fearless, proud heir he'd envisioned. His appearance and that glorious white-blonde hair in particular, was the only thing that helped remind him that he should not yet lose hope. It was in his blood. At some point, preferably soon, his genetics would kick in and Jonathan would be worthy to bear the Morgenstern legacy.

"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" He heard a higher-pitched whine from the direction Jonathan had just ran in. Clarissa. Not a name he would have chosen, but he'd grown to accept it. "Mum! Jonathan just puked up in the sink!"

"Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern!" Jocelyn jumped up, all thoughts of passion gone and her face slowly reddening until it almost matched her hair. "Just wait until I get in there!"

"Ugh Clary!" His son moaned as more gagging sounds could be heard. "Mum! Clary just barfed all over me!"

"You know the smell of sick makes me sick!" His daughter argued.

"Your face makes me sick!"

"Your mum makes me sick! No, wait, I didn't-"

"MUM!"

"Oh for goodness' sake!" Jocelyn cried. "Can't I leave you two alone for one minute!? Val, I better…"

"It's fine, do what you must." Valentine reluctantly let his wife go and headed towards the front door. "I'll see you tonight, my love!" He called, trying to block out what was unfolding in the kitchen.

It may have been Valentine's Day, but it was just another normal morning in the Morgenstern household.

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><p><strong>Indeed it is!<strong>

**So what did you guys think? Since this isn't a running story like BotB, the chapters will vary in length, mood and timeline too but that way I can post whenever I have a new idea. If you have anything you want to see in particular, let me know.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**smim xx**


	2. Valentine's Talk

**Hey guys! I am back from the land of examinations and once again, I've decided to warm up with a chapter about Valentine before I get stuck into the rest of what I've got planned. I hope you've all been well! Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I'm so glad you enjoyed it and I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to you all. The ending of BotB kinda consumed the months shortly after I published this so that took precedence. I appreciate it a lot though!**

**This particular chapter is also set before the events of BotB. At the beginning of that, Jonathan has just turned 18 so this is a couple of years beforehand.**

**I'll let it speak for itself.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own TMI or any of its characters, though I find it unnervingly natural to write from the point of view of a middle-aged father of two.**

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><p><strong>Valentine's Talk<strong>

"It's time," Jocelyn said, placing a hand on Valentine's shoulder. "You have to talk to him."

Valentine sighed. It was the eve of Jonathan's sixteenth birthday and as all fathers must do for their sons, it was now his turn to impart his worldly wisdom unto the unruly teenager.

Except, Valentine didn't really want to.

He had no issues at all with teaching important life lessons, such as the need for persistence and rationality – in fact, as an outstanding pillar of the community he felt it was only right to pass on his legacy – but there were certain things he wasn't ready for his own son to pass on. Just yet.

At least, not until he could be sure that Jonathan had inherited some of the valuable Morgenstern traits, though he wasn't showing any signs of them thus far. His white-blonde hair and chiselled features could have fooled those in his home country, but as soon as Jonathan opened his mouth, it was clear to anyone that he did not possess the authority or conviction of his father. He slouched, he slammed doors, he grunted in answer when called and, perhaps the most distasteful of all, he constantly found himself in detention.

The first time Valentine had been called into school, his shoulders drooped with the shame of birthing such an impertinent youth. Jonathan was five years old at the time and he'd spent the whole day stealing crayons from the school supply and planting them in his classmates' backpacks. The school had called the Morgensterns because initially, they were completely baffled. Jonathan kept no crayons for himself and he'd even targeted his best friend, Jace. There was no clear motive, no clear pattern. It was chaos.

Valentine knew from that moment he was dealing with something else altogether. His son was – though it pained him to admit it – a disturber of the peace. He caused trouble simply for the joy of it and despite all of Valentine's best attempts to keep him in check, he always resisted. Occasionally his mother would be able to rein him in, but even that was an uncertainty.

But still, Valentine did not lose hope. For every rule Jonathan broke, every child he brought to tears, Valentine doubled his efforts. Luckily his youngest, Clarissa, was a fine and obedient daughter who seemed to understand her father completely, so Valentine could afford to spend more time on conditioning Jonathan. If it didn't work, he'd just have to leave everything for Clary to inherit instead.

She may have been ginger, but these things can sometimes skip a generation.

Valentine squared his shoulders now as he stood outside of his son's bedroom door. Jocelyn was right, he had to talk to him. He knew only too well how Morgenstern men behaved and whether or not Jonathan displayed the characteristics of his ancestors, in this, he was certain to feel the same. Valentine brought his fist up to the door and gave it a single, proud knock.

He never saw the need in knocking more than once. If a person heard all three raps, by logic they must have heard the first. Otherwise, they would only have heard two raps. Why expend energy for the sake of rhythmic satisfaction?

Valentine waited patiently, his arms crossed behind his back and the package he'd kept for so many years dangling from one of his wrists.

There was no answer.

"Jonathan," he said, keeping his voice level.

Still no answer.

"Son," he said, a little more forcefully this time.

His hands twitched. Despite himself, he knocked on the door once again. It rattled in its frame.

"Jonathan!"

Silence.

Valentine sighed, moving away from the door. He tried to hide his relief as he turned to face his wife, who was watching from the other end of the corridor.

"It seems he's not in. What a shame. Perhaps I'll try again tomorrow."

"Val," Jocelyn snapped. "He walked past us not five minutes ago. Try again."

"But-"

"Valentine."

"Fine!" Valentine huffed, knocking on the door repeatedly in his frustration. "Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, I swear on all that is Swiss and holy that if you do not let me in right now I'll-"

"What?" The door flew open, revealing his floppy-haired son. He stood a few inches shorter than his father, but Valentine knew that would change soon enough. Children these days grew with unnatural speed. It would only be a matter of time before his daughter exceeded her five feet. "Did you call?"

"Did I call?" Valentine gasped. _"Did I call!?"_

"Well, did you?" Jonathan looked confused, blowing long pale hair out of his eyes.

"Did you not hear my first knock?"

"I had my headphones in," his son shrugged.

Valentine shuddered, glaring at the contraption around his son's neck. Headphones. Another unnatural thing. How could one be aware of his surroundings and prepared for all eventualities if he deprived himself of one of his senses? If it weren't for the fact that Jonathan's music was far more intolerable when played out loud, he would have confiscated those things a long time ago. Sometimes one had to pick the lesser of two evils.

"So, did you want something?"

"I wanted…well, I…" Valentine glanced at his wife once more. She gave him an encouraging nod. "Can we talk, son?"

"I don't know, can we?"

_It will pass,_ Valentine told himself, trying to keep calm. His son always seemed to have a smart answer for everything and since he'd hit his teenage years, he'd constantly pushed Valentine's boundaries further than he'd ever done before.

"Jonathan, please. Can I come in?"

"I don't know, can-"

Valentine shouldered past his son, not waiting for a reply. The room was pitch black, Jonathan having painted all of his walls without his parents' permission and the only light emanated from the glow of his laptop. It highlighted the faces of the band posters on his wall, twisting their features into gruesome sneers. Valentine resisted the urge to shudder again as he flipped the light switch on. The faces on the walls looked even more terrible when you could actually see them. Piercings and tattoos and unkempt hair. Perhaps that's why Jonathan always kept it so dark.

"Ugh, Dad!" Jonathan groaned, shielding his eyes from the sudden onslaught.

Valentine paid him no mind as he stalked up to the double bed and perched on the side of it that looked the least dirty. He patted the sheets down beside him, shaking off biscuit crumbs and tried to ignore the many pairs of boxer shorts and socks that lay strewn about the place.

"Come sit down, son."

Jonathan didn't seem to have the same problems as his father as he jumped onto the bed, something crackling beneath him. He pulled out a half-empty packet of crisps and grinned, offering them to Valentine.

"None for me, thank you, Jonathan," Valentine grimaced, leaning away. "I'm quite full."

"Suit yourself," Jonathan shrugged, before taking out a handful and munching on them. "So what did you want to talk about?"

Valentine sat up straighter, eyeing the package that was still tied around his wrist.

"Tomorrow is the sixteenth anniversary of your birth, correct?"

"So I've been told," Jonathan rolled his eyes. "I can't really remember it. You should know, you were there."

"I was indeed," Valentine nodded, casting his mind back to the day Jocelyn had brought his first-born into the world. Valentine had shed a tear as he'd set eyes upon the little bundle, wisps of white-blonde Morgenstern hair resting on its head.

'My son,' he'd announced proudly. 'You will bring honour to the Morgenstern name.'

Valentine watched his son now, wiping Dorito dust from his mouth and managing to stain some of that precious hair in the process.

_It will pass._

"As I was saying," he continued. "Tomorrow you shall be sixteen, a man by most accounts." He used the term 'man' loosely. "And as your father, it's necessary that I help make that transition as efficient as possible for you."

"Are you giving me money?" His son asked, perking up for the first time.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm giving you something far more valuable."

"A new drum kit?"

"More valuable than that, even," Valentine said, though he had been looking into whether silent drums existed. That would be a gift to the entire neighbourhood.

"What's more valuable than…"

"Wisdom!" Valentine cried, exasperated. "I'm offering you wisdom."

"That's okay," Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "I'll just take the new drum kit instead."

"Jonathan, this isn't easy for me as it is and you're only making it harder!"

"Sorry," his son mumbled, his expression guarded. "Go on." Valentine rarely admitted his own weaknesses in any capacity, so whatever he had to say, it must have been important.

Valentine coughed and tried again.

"You see, there comes a point in a man's life when he becomes somewhat more…aware of his surroundings. His emotions become heightened, difficult to control."

Jonathan looked on wide-eyed.

"And it is during this time that it falls upon an authority figure, usually the boy's father – though I would happily have stepped aside for your mother if she hadn't forced me to come in – to pass on their knowledge and experience so that the process is less daunting. In my own case, I have had a lot of experience and that is why I am talking to you today. Before, you had the good arm of the law to keep you disciplined, but from tomorrow, the responsibility will fall directly onto you. From tomorrow, you must practice your own restraint."

Jonathan scrambled to the other side of the bed.

"No," he shook his head. "No, no, no! We're not talking about this!"

"Jonathan, it is necessary!"

"No!" Jonathan dived under his pillows, clutching them about his head.

"Jonathan!" Valentine sighed, grabbing at his son's flailing feet. "Son, listen to me!"

The pillows shook violently as Jonathan protested once again.

"JO-NA-THAN!" Valentine wheezed, managing to get a tight hold of his right foot and yanking backwards with all his strength. Jonathan may have been growing rapidly, but he still had the lanky frame of a teenager and didn't have enough muscle to resist. His son slid across the bed, his head still buried under a mountain of pillows and exposed a trail of various snacks and empty drink cans behind him. "IF YOU HEAR ME OUT I WILL BUY YOU A NEW DRUM KIT!"

And just like that, Jonathan ceased to struggle. He threw the pillows off his head and sat up cross-legged.

"I'm listening."

"Good," Valentine caught his breath. Of course, he hadn't meant straight away. Jonathan often missed technicalities, but now would not be the time to bring that up. Yes, he'd buy Jonathan a new drum kit. But not right now. He had such a tendency to destroy anything he'd ever been presented with; he'd have to earn the right to own new equipment. Valentine would start small. A new set of drumsticks maybe, just to keep him at bay. He'd have to wait until he was at least eighteen for some new cymbals, those things were expensive. After that, he could fend for himself. "Very good."

"You were saying…" Jonathan kept his features perfectly composed. For a new drum kit, he would have done anything, even if it meant being uncharacteristically mature for five minutes. His band, Mallard Massacre, was finally starting to meld together and he felt it was time for the next step. They wanted to go out and perform, but for that, he'd need more than the tinny little kit he currently owned.

"Yes, I was saying that at this age, young men learn what their purpose on this world really is. Their bodies teach them of this purpose and their instincts work to accommodate it. The purpose I speak of is, naturally, procreation."

Valentine felt that the best way to deliver this talk was to be as objective and indifferent as possible.

"What's your point, Dad?"

"My point is that unfortunately, we Morgenstern men are very suited for survival. The universe is so eager for our bloodline to continue that it has made us incredibly fertile. Our drives are more potent than others and we must therefore work even harder to keep our gears in neutral."

"Actually, I changed my mind!" Jonathan began to edge away. His face had taken on a peculiar greenish hue. Metaphors were where he drew the line. "Keep the drum kit."

"Jonathan, this is important! It's not our fault, but it is our duty to practice restraint. After all, the Morgenstern name cannot be passed on if our offspring are not legitimate."

"Dad…"

"You may breed as much as you like, Jonathan, but only once you are married."

"Dad, please!" Jonathan brought his knees up to his chest and began to rock back and forth. He looked pained. "Stop."

"But until then, it falls upon me to teach you how to control yourself."

"I hate you…" Jonathan groaned, burying his face.

"Excellent," Valentine praised. "Pushing the female away with a display of malice can be very effective."

"I hate _you_, specifically."

"Even better, making her feel isolated. Alone. Though some strange ones feed off of that."

"_Father_, I hate you."

"Now, there's no need to take this out on our Creator," Valentine clicked his tongue. "He made us this way, but lust is the work of Lucifer."

Jonathan gave up and flopped back onto the bed.

"I wish only to help you, Jon. I married your mother early, which meant that I did not have to hold back for long, but until that time, I fought with the same demons. I was as weak as any man in the presence of a beautiful woman. And your mother, she was the most beautiful of them all."

Jonathan let out a pain-filled whine.

"I know, it is shocking," Valentine nodded gravely. "A man such as myself should have no weakness, but this is why I am telling you this. It's okay to admit your feelings, Jonathan, for one cannot control what one hasn't accepted to be real. In my own case, whenever I felt the rush of hormones begin to claim me, I thought of your grandmother, Seraphina-"

_"Oh my god, DAD!" _ Jonathan keened mournfully. "That's so wrong, no!"

"If you'd let me finish!" Valentine snapped. "What is it with kids these days? You're all so impatient. It's technology, that's what it is! All your _XStations_ and your _PS-Wiis_, making you jittery and paranoid; the internet, filling your impressionable brains with mindless tat."

Jonathan appeared to twitch spasmodically, confirming his thoughts.

"What I was about to say," Valentine repeated, attempting to sound calmer. "Is that I would think of your grandmother, Seraphina Morgenstern, and what she had told me. '_Son,'_ she would say. '_Life is like an apple.' _At first I used to believe she was referring to the forbidden fruit of Eden, but as I grew older, I understood the true meaning. And so now I will tell you what I had to work out for myself. Son," Valentine said, taking on a wistful tone. "Life is like an apple. From the outside it tempts you, succulent and red."

"Not all apples are red," Jonathan pointed out.

"Fine," Valentine groaned. "Life is like a _Gala _apple."

"Or _Red_ _Delicious._"

"LIFE IS LIKE AN APPLE," Valentine yelled suddenly, stunning Jonathan into silence. "From the outside it tempts you, succulent and red. It draws you in with its smooth curves and promise of refreshment. It hypnotises us, so that at times, we may lose the privilege of judgement, and despite ourselves, we take a bite. Sometimes we are not disappointed. The apple is just as delicious as we thought it would be and next time, we practice even less caution. But sometimes, we will bite into that apple and find that it is rotten and be-wormed."

"I'm pretty sure that's not a word."

"And I'm pretty sure I earn most of the money in this house."

"Only pretty sure?" Jonathan quirked his eyebrow, then shut up again when Valentine gave him the deadliest glare he'd seen in a long time.

"_However_, if we practice restraint, if we take the apple and cut it through before we take that bite, we may determine whether or not it is in our best interests to proceed with consumption. We may understand the true nature of the apple and through that, the true nature of our own satisfaction."

"So you're saying girls have worms and I should cut them open?"

"Not literally!" Valentine smacked his forehead. "It's a metaphor, Jonathan!"

"Simile, actually," Jonathan smirked. "You said life is _like_ an apple. If it was a metaphor, you would have said life _is_ an apple."

"You want a metaphor, son? Okay, how about you _are_ a brainless toad!"

"Touché, Dad. Though, I'll have you know that I washed my hair just three days ago, so if it's the whole slimy thing you're going for, it doesn't work."

"It didn't matter what I tacked on at the end. It was the 'brainless' thing I was going for. I handed you the knowledge on a plate, Jonathan!" The older Morgenstern sighed, gazing at the ceiling. He hoped it wouldn't be this hard when Clarissa came of age. "I'm saying that the female species are tricky and that it is the inner beauty that matters the most, so must take our time to get to know them before we act on our instincts. We must not let ourselves fall prey to seductive sirens, for they may be rotten within. Also, yes, some of them do have worms."

"Right, well," Jonathan sat up. "Thanks for that, Dad. I'm sure your advice will be burned into my memory forever."

"Oh, I'm not done."

"No?" His son moaned.

"No," Valentine shook his head and brought out the package he'd been carrying. "There are times when our sense and conviction is not enough to prevail, and in those times, we must take necessary precautions."

Jonathan eyed the little box warily as his father placed it between them.

"Such as this." Valentine flipped the lid and removed a thin, silver object.

"A triangle!?"

"A triangle," Valentine confirmed, holding the instrument out in front of him. He looked upon it fondly, remembering simpler days. "When I found that my desire was too great, I thought it helpful to focus my concentration on other things, like music. I chose the triangle in particular because of the purity of its tone. I hoped that its clean, heavenly sound would inspire the same spirituality within me."

"Are you serious?"

"Very much so. Watch." Valentine raised the beater and with an exaggerated motion, he tapped it against the gleaming steel. He then closed his eyes, listening to the brightness of its chime and how the sound reverberated through the air. He let it consume him, losing himself in that single note and exhaling only when it began to fade away.

Valentine opened his eyes. Jonathan sat opposite him, dumbstruck.

"Wasn't that beautiful?"

"Quite."

"Now you try," Valentine said, ignoring his son's sarcasm and passing the sacred instrument to him. After instructing him in the proper way to hold it, he made Jonathan repeat the process of hitting it again and again until he was satisfied with his technique. "Do you see how this will help? By focussing on the note of the triangle, you may learn to control your emotions and harness them in a way that is far more pleasing to your mother."

"Great, can I go now?"

"There's just one more thing." Valentine pulled out the other item in his box.

A mobile phone.

One so old that Jonathan didn't even recognise its make.

"What am I going to do with that thing? Throw it at seductive sirens?"

"No. As a last resort, if the words of my mother fail you, the music of the triangle cannot restrain you and you find yourself on the brink of temptation, you will call me."

"For _what!?_"

"So I can stop you! My number is programmed in the speed dial."

"This thing has a speed dial?" Jonathan turned it over in his hands, still not believing his father actually meant what he said. As if he'd call him.

"Jonathan, this is important."

"How long do I have to keep this?"

"Until such time that someone needs it more than you." Namely, his sister. Valentine despised having to resort to technology. Though in this he deemed it necessary, he'd be damned if he'd have to buy more than one.

Jonathan would keep the phone until Clarissa needed it more.

Though, since Clary was such a good child, Valentine doubted that would be within the next decade. She was more focussed on her studies than she was on boys. As she should be.

"Are we done now?" Jonathan asked, placing both the triangle and the phone to the side of him. There was a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

"Yes, but-"

Valentine never got to finish his sentence, because Jonathan had bolted out of his room faster than he'd ever seen his son run before.

"Jonathan?" Valentine scooped up the 'items of restraint' and followed him out. "You forgot your-" He paused outside the bathroom door as he heard the sounds of retching coming from within.

That was another thing he really had to deal with.

His son's stomach was far too weak. In fact, he was surprised he'd made it through the entire talk without vomiting all over the bed.

Valentine shook his head and left the triangle and the phone on the floor.

"Right, well. Good talk, eh, son? Good talk. Yes."

He walked away, muttering to himself.

Next time, Jocelyn was definitely taking care of it.

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><p><strong>Poor thing, he had no idea what was to come.<strong>

**As for the apple thing, don't ask. I'm not sure where I pulled that out from, though I may tell it to my kids one day. Seems pretty legit.**

**And regarding 'bewormed' - can we please make that into a real word? If dewormed is a thing, I feel it is only right for bewormed to have a place in the english language. How cool is it to say, 'my apple is bewormed' or 'my garden is bewormed' or even (unfortunate though it may be) 'I am bewormed'!? I will fight for this.**

**Right, so. Please let me know what you thought! I'm still reeling from the events of COHF so I needed to get straight back to writing and this scene made its way into my head first. I'll be getting to work on the BotB outtakes soon, but for once, something else will take priority over them. That something is my NEW FULL-LENGTH! I've got it almost entirely planned out and I'm really excited to share this one with you guys. **

**So yeah, watch this space. **

**Not this space, specifically. But like, watch my account. Things will be happening.**

**Thanks again for reading :)**

**Till the next time...**

**smim xx**


	3. Valentine's Team

**Happy Valentine's Day! It's past midnight here so I thought I'd get the party started with a new chapter of From Switzerland With Love. If nothing else, at least you know I'll always update on the day of our beloved Valentine himself.**

**Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own TMI or its characters, but I probably also get way too emotional about football. (to clarify, we're talking about the english version)**

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><p><strong>Valentine's Team<strong>

Valentine regarded his son carefully, wondering exactly what it was about the sport on the television that managed to capture his attention so thoroughly, as nothing else could. If Jonathan could apply even half of such diligence to his school work, there was no telling what the boy might achieve. But no. Instead of trying to make something of his life, he was either too busy messing around on that drum kit of his with his equally as foolish friends or sitting right here on the sofa watching football. It was only due to Jocelyn's ceaseless insistence that he should make some sort of effort to bond with his son that Valentine found himself sitting on the same sofa today, his glasses propped on the point of his nose.

Perhaps if he could understand what it was about this game that so enticed Jonathan, he could find the source of the boy's motivation and attempt to convert it to something that would end in decent career prospects. He'd tried to speak to him about his music before, but he couldn't glean much apart from the fact that Jonathan liked to hit things very loudly. The only potential lucrative career path he could envision from that was law, but he didn't think Jonathan would prefer a gavel to his drumsticks. That, and his son didn't particularly care for justice or righteousness. He didn't particularly care for much at all beside himself and Marmalade Massacre or whatever that ridiculous ensemble was called.

Valentine tried to imitate the way his son was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped between them. On the screen, a man kicked the ball to another man, who then kicked the ball to yet another man. This was followed by another man still, ramming straight into the one who currently had the ball. He could at least understand why it was referred to as football. There was certainly a ball involved and many feet. What he couldn't understand is what the point of it was.

"No!" Jonathan groaned, slapping his forehead. "That was a perfectly clean tackle! Why would the ref card him? That's insane!"

"Yes," Valentine nodded, assuming indignation. Of course, he had absolutely no idea what was going on. "Absolutely preposterous. That was such a clean tackle. The most hygienic of tackles, one might say."

"Err, Dad. I don't think people would say that." The critique came from his daughter, Clarissa, who had just walked into the room. She stole a packet of Doritos from Jonathan's side and fell into the armchair, placing a couple in her mouth. "How are we doing?"

"Not bad," Jonathan said, not bothering to break eye contact with the television. "We've got possession but it's sloppy."

"As long as we've got possession," she said, the crisps crunching in her mouth in a most unladylike fashion. Honestly, these children. Had they inherited nothing of him at all? "It'll hit the net eventually."

"Not if we all get sent off, it won't. The bloody ref can't handle a bit of ingenuity."

"Alright, stop." Valentine put his hands up. "I have some questions."

"Shoot," Clary said.

"First off, why do you ke…"

"I said shoot, you idiot!" She yelled, leaning forward. "No, not _now_! It's too late!"

"Young lady!" Valentine stood up, his body resonating with anger and disapproval. "You do not speak to your father that way!"

"Huh?" She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "What did I do?"

"You called me an idiot! Me. Your_ father_; the one who cradled you when you were nothing but a snivelling infant. I may not have birthed you, but you are still the fruit of my loins and I will not be spoken to in such an impertinent manner."

Clary's eyes were wide and even Jonathan had torn his gaze from the game to look up at him. Valentine crossed his arms over his chest, attempting to keep calm. He could not believe the insolence of children in this generation, though it was probably this country too. This would never have happened in Switzerland.

"Dad, I was talking about the striker," she said slowly. "Not you."

"And what proof do you have that he is an idiot?" So she'd been judging someone else, but that didn't make it any better. He'd raised his children to be better than that. "You cannot make such wild accusations about people you do not know, Clarissa. He could be a fine gentleman with an appreciation for fiscal studies. You do not know that he is an idiot."

"Dad, he literally just face-planted," Jonathan said, pointing at the television. "He missed the opening and threw away a perfectly good assist. I think that's enough proof of his idiocy. Plus, I doubt he'd be a footballer if he had an appreciation for fiscal studies. They're not exactly the brightest bunch."

"There you go again," Valentine said, shaking his head. "Making accusations about people you do not know. Yes, he face-planted, but perhaps the grass was loose on the pitch. And also, there is absolutely nothing to say that sportsmen cannot be intelligent. I was a sportsman myself once."

"You were? Then why don't you know anything about football?"

"Because we didn't play football." Valentine rolled his eyes, thinking back to his days as a young boy. "Our village was too small for there to be enough players for football. Instead, I participated in _Steinstossen._"

"Stone-throwing?"

"Exactly!" The elder Morgenstern beamed for a second. "So you do remember some of your German! I haven't failed completely, then. But yes, it was a sport that required both strength and concentration in equal amounts. You had to have a sound knowledge of trajectories in order to calculate the most effective way in which to toss the stone. _Steinstossen_ is a sacred sport in Switzerland."

"Oh, here we go…"

"Few might go as far as to claim it as our national sport, and I would concur with those few. Others prefer _Schwingen,_ but I've always seen wrestling as unnecessary and barbaric. Why throw around your fellow man when you can throw stones instead?"

"Were you going somewhere with this, Dad?" Clary asked. "Because we've just been granted a penalty so I'd really like to…you know, watch."

"Of course I'm going somewhere with this! I never speak unless I have something worth saying – a habit that it would do the two of you well to learn. My point is that I am a sportsman and I am also highly intelligent, so you cannot base the scholarly capabilities of this poor man on the fact that he is also adept at wielding a ball with his foot."

"Okay." Clary nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I jumped to such a conclusion. Can we get back to the game now?"

"You may, once you've answered the questions I initially had for you. It's not respectful to ignore your father, either."

"Right, yes. Go ahead." His daughter gave a tight-lipped smile and then placed another Dorito in her mouth.

"My first question was: why do you and Jonathan continue to use 'we' when referring to the players? If I'm not mistaken, you two aren't doing anything at all. You're not on the field. So why would you say '_we_ have a penalty' and '_we're_ being sloppy.'"

"Well, this is who we support. It's our team, Dad."

"And this qualifies some sort of ownership?"

"Not ownership as much as…" Clary looked at her brother.

"Camaraderie," Jonathan finished. "We feel their pain as if it's our own and celebrate their victories in the same way. You must understand that concept, right, Dad? I'm sure you support Switzerland."

"Of course I support Switzerland! It is the fatherland! Generations of Morgensterns have been born and raised in that fine country…"

"I mean the Swiss football team. Surely you'd support them?"

"There's a Swiss football team?"

"Yeah, sure there is. And they're not half bad. They co-hosted the Euro 2008, I think."

"There's a Swiss football team…" Valentine said again, to himself this time. How had he not known of this? His fellow countrymen were out in the big wide world, representing their fine nation and he had never bothered to learn of them. "Is there also a Swiss cricket team?"

"Probably? I'm sure there's a national team for almost every sport out there. The football team is the most well known though."

"And how can I see them? How may I witness their beautiful gameplay?"

"I don't think they play very often…" Clary began, but Jonathan placed his hand over her mouth.

"You have to subscribe to ESPN," he said. "Also Sky Sports 1, Sky Sports 2 and the entire music package."

"The music package?" Valentine narrowed his eyes, wondering whether his son was trying to pull wool over them.

"Sometimes they play national anthems on the music channels," he explained. "And football songs."

"I see. I suppose that if I want to truly support my national team then I must also support their war cries."

"You'll have to get the movies package too then, Dad," Clary added. "Just in case they ever play films about the Swiss football team."

"I hardly think that's likely, Clarissa."

"Yes, but are you really willing to take the chance?" She shook her head gravely. "What if they do make a film about the Swiss football team but when it comes to airing it, we won't be able to watch it because we don't have the right subscription? It's not right, Dad. It's not patriotic."

"You're right," he said, pursing his lips. "It seems that I have some calls to make. But first, I have some more questions for you. What is a tackle?"

Once Valentine had learned as much as he could about football from his two offspring, he set off to change their satellite subscription and decided to do some extra research of his own. He usually detested the Internet, but the library wasn't very forthcoming when he asked for books on Swiss football-based literature, so he was forced to look further afield. Luckily, the Internet served his purposes just fine. He read up on the history of the team and found this incredible website called Amazon that allowed him to purchase various merchandise. He ordered Swiss football t-shirts for his entire family – both the home and away kits, naturally – socks, badges and even a flag that he resolved to drape across one of the walls in his living room.

It took a while for almost everything to arrive, but an entire month later, Valentine had his family standing in the kitchen, completely outfitted in the Swiss national football team's home kit. The music and movie channels hadn't provided anything remotely Swiss or football-related as of yet, but he'd found out that Switzerland was due to play Austria later that day and the game was to be aired live on ESPN. Valentine figured that if Jonathan's suggestion of purchasing that channel had proved to be fruitful, there was no reason why the other packages might not also serve their purpose in allowing the Morgensterns to support Switzerland.

"Now listen here," he told his children, pacing the kitchen. Jocelyn just stood the side, looking a little bored. "I am aware that I have raised you to be neutral parties who withhold judgement until just reason is given to sway your allegiance, but tonight, I must ask you to judge freely and without abandon. Under no circumstances must Germany be allowed to win this game. They may be our fatherland's neighbours, but we support Switzerland and Switzerland alone. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Dad," Jonathan said, pulling at his shirt. "But you do realise this is just a friendly, right?"

"What's a friendly?"

"It means they're not actually playing towards anything. It doesn't matter who wins and who loses."

"What did you say?" Valentine gasped, striding towards his son. He was surprised to find that he could look him in the eye now. The boy had been growing fast since his sixteenth birthday, as was the Morgenstern way. "Are you saying that it doesn't matter if Switzerland loses?"

"Err…no?" Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure it matters to you, but it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things."

"Well, neither does your life, Jonathan, but that doesn't mean I don't care about it."

Jonathan's expression turned even more confused "…thanks?"

"You're welcome. Now are we all clear?" His brood nodded this time and Valentine smiled in satisfaction. "Then let us all transport ourselves to the viewing area." He stood aside and held his arm out, waiting for Jocelyn to walk into the room before him, then entered himself before his children could. Jocelyn could have her first pick of the seating, but there was no way Jonathan or Clary were about to deprive him of a prime viewing position. Switzerland were about to play and when Switzerland played, the world stood still.

Valentine positioned himself opposite the television and instructed Jonathan to find the right channel. The anticipation bubbled within him like a fresh spring in the Alps. He hadn't been this excited about something since he'd found out that Johan's son, Gustav, had come of age and was pursuing a career as a professional tennis player, under the instruction of Federer himself. He'd make a fine match for Clarissa one day.

The match began and Valentine hushed his family. "Let us now enjoy the beautiful game."

"Since when have you called it the beautiful game?" Jocelyn arched at an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said that football was pointless and mundane?"

"That was until I learned of Switzerland's team," he clarified, shocked at the accusation. "Nothing is pointless and mundane where Switzerland is concerned."

Valentine still hadn't fully grasped the concept of the sport, but he found the commentators to be surprisingly helpful in explaining the basics to him. He didn't understand the technical language so much, but he used his expert skills in deduction to notice that whenever their voices became higher-pitched, something exciting was likely to happen.

He was enjoying it immensely until at once, Jonathan, Clary and his wife all groaned.

"What happened?" He said, narrowing his eyes at the screen. The other thing that he had begun to find recently – though he never would have admitted it to his family - was that his eyesight was no longer as sprightly as it had been in his youth. In fact, he could barely distinguish between the players at all, but he knew that in his heart, he would know which fine young men were Swiss. Of course, his heart wasn't always entirely accurate.

"It's okay," his wife told him, placing her gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's still early. I'm sure Switzerland can come back from this."

"Come back from what?"

"Val, Germany just scored."

"They did what!?" He stood up, anger clouding his vision. "How dare they!? Do they not know who we are?"

"Valentine, sit down. You're blocking the children's view."

"I will block every view if it means that I can prevent the world from witnessing the fatherland in defeat."

"It's only one-nil, Dad, relax," Jonathan told him.

"Only one million!?" How was that anything to relax about?

"One-nil. It means Germany have one goal and Switzerland have none."

"Switzerland have none," he said, the world fading before him. "They have none."

"Dad, there's still like, eighty minutes." Clary tried to guide him back to the sofa but he wouldn't move. What was happening? How could Switzerland possibly be losing.

"Valentine," his wife called again. "Please sit down. You're overreacting."

"How am I overreacting? Did you not hear your son!? It is one-NIL. Nil means NONE!"

"They're only one behind. This sort of thing happens all the time."

"Not to my country it doesn't."

"Jonathan, tell your father this happens all the time."

"Sure," Jonathan nodded. "Do you remember that team Clary and I were watching before? They came back from being one-nil down to win by three goals."

"Really?" Valentine attempted to calm his heart rate down. He was better than this. He'd been raised better than this and if his mother, Seraphina, could have seen him now, she'd have been ashamed. "Of course, I'm sorry. This is just so important to me."

"I know, Val," Jocelyn said in her most soothing of voices, attempting to placate him. It worked and he was just about to sit down when Jonathan and Clary cried out again.

"What was that?" He said, frozen half way to the sofa. His children looked at each other, their eyes wide.

"Nothing," Clary said, shaking her head. "Nothing at all."

"You emitted a sound of disappointment, Clarissa. What was the source of your disappointment?"

"Jonathan," she hedged, but it was too late. The commentators said the words that Valentine had been dreading.

"TWO-NIL!" The wretched man screamed and Valentine felt a strange palpitation in his chest, unlike the one that his heart was meant to be accountable for.

"Valentine?" Jocelyn stood up, concern plastered on her face. "Valentine, it's just a game. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, Dad. Germany are like the best team in the world," Clary added. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Nothing to be ashamed of? NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF?!" And then Valentine let out a sound. It was a horrifying sound. The sort of sound that he'd never thought he'd be capable of making and it felt like the world was falling apart around him. "Two- nil," he mumbled to himself, not able to process anything but the weight of shock and anger that was settling around him. "Our reputation has been destroyed. We have allowed ourselves to be defeated."

"Dad, there's still time," Clary insisted. "Teams have come back from two-nil too."

"Shit," Jonathan cursed and Jocelyn sucked in another breath. "Make that three. Switzerland are getting hammered."

"Hammered?" Valentine whispered to himself. "They are being hammered? The country that birthed me is being hammered?"

"Only in this one football game that is a friendly anyway," Jocelyn said.

"Excuse me if I am mistaken, but _hammering_ does not sound very friendly to me!" Valentine fumed and ripped his shirt straight off. "That's it. I've had enough."

"Oh, Val. You paid so much for those t-shirts."

"What is money? I have lost my pride. I have lost everything."

"It's just football."

"Today it's just football. Tomorrow, it'll be just _Schwingen._ The day after, it'll be just _Steinstossen._ And the next month: the gods will come for me."

"Valentine…"

Jonathan swore again. "Four-nil."

Then Valentine walked straight up to the television and threw it out the window.

"Televisionstossen," he mumbled, then walked straight back out of the room.

He was never bonding with his son again.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, he just can't catch a break eh? Anyway I hope you all have a fantastic Valentine's Day and once again, if you don't have a Valentine this year, assume that I've adopted you as mine.<strong>

**I'll see you guys later on today with the _last_ chapter of A Tale Of Two, but until then, goodnight and sweet dreams!**

**smim xx**


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